


All That's Left

by SherlockianSyndromes



Series: Sherlock Drabbles [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 20:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/pseuds/SherlockianSyndromes
Summary: Contradict Yourself. Contronymns are words that are their own antonyms. Choose one and use both its meanings in your work.Left: remained, or departed.Sherlock thinks of all the things taken from him, all the things that remain while the television murmurs, white noise taking a backseat to a racing mind.





	All That's Left

Sherlock curls up on the couch, watching whatever late night drivel is on the telly. He tries not think about the empty space that John Watson used to occupy, tries not to look at the overstuffed chair left behind as a glaring reminder that once upon a time, Sherlock had a flatmate, another warm body that took up space and spoke words and made him tea without being asked.

The thing about having a mind like Sherlock’s is that it never switches off - he doesn't know how to still the waters, refuses to learn. So he doesn’t lose himself in the awful reality show featuring barely functioning adults who are unable to perform even the most menial of tasks.

Instead, he thinks about John standing in the hall downstairs, catching his breath after a thrilling hunt, about Angelo knocking on the door to return the cane John conveniently forgot about the moment the game was on. He thinks about getting arrested and John’s body slamming up against the police car next to Sherlock because he decided to punch Lestrade’s superior officer.

Sherlock thinks of all the things taken from him, all the things that remain while the television murmurs, white noise taking a backseat to a racing mind.

John Watson is gone now, moved on after processing grief for three miserable years. Sherlock can’t blame him really, can only blame himself. Secrets kill, and that secret in particular, once revealed, brought the death throes to whatever fondness lingered in John’s heart for Sherlock.

What remains are the memories of a friend, of a life shared, of something that hovered in the spaces between friendship and something Sherlock wanted to call love.

Sherlock falls asleep, dreams of John brushing the hair out of his eyes and reminding him that he has a perfectly good bed to sleep in upstairs. Sherlock pulls John into his arms and keeps him there until he wakes, alone with the whispers of the television.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Watson's Woes JWP 2018.


End file.
